


Gary, Demi, and Thee

by zaen (fiernazj)



Category: The Scarlet Letter (1995)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:04:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiernazj/pseuds/zaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short scene based on the 1995 film <i>The Scarlet Letter</i>, which was itself "loosely adapted" from the classic novel.  Methinks Nathaniel Hawthorne would *not* approve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gary, Demi, and Thee

Gary, Demi, and Thee

By Zaen

 

            Hester Prynne sighed heavily and wiped the faint trace of sweat from her brow.  At last the evening chores were done; the cow and chickens fed, the evening’s wood chopped, the barn floor cleaned.  She took a deep breath, as deep as possible with the hard-boned corset cutting into her waist.  She removed the white bonnet from her hair, letting it fall loosely to her shoulders, and dabbed her sweaty face dry.  The night was as humid as it was hot, and she suffered underneath her long, heavy dress and petticoats.  She tossed the rake aside, taking one last glance around the barn, breathing in the sweet smell of Mituba’s stew coming from the house.  She took a long drink from the water she’d collected at the pond earlier.  When her thirst was quenched, she tilted the cup to her throat, sighing as the cool water splashed down her chest, drenching the front of her bodice.  She smiled a bit and called for Mituba; when she was confident that the slave woman was back at the house, she untied the front of her frock to let the night air come up under the heavy fabric and stir her soft underclothes.  She released herself from the confining corset and let her heavy working dress fall to the hay-covered floor.  Standing in only a thin white camisole and petticoats, she lifted the cup over her head and let tiny drops of water fall down her face and chest.  She licked her lips of the sweet water and shivered as heavy drops of wetness slipped inside her camisole and between her breasts.  She looked down at the thin cotton sticking to her skin, her nipples shriveled and hard under the wet fabric.

            “I thought I’d find thee here.”  She gasped, drew her clothes around her protectively and quickly turned around.  She shivered under the gaze of the man at the door of the barn.  His eyes traveled down her body, staring at her nakedness exposed by the soaking white clothes.  The smile on his face was quickly replaced by a look of astonishment, and a bright red blush.  “Please, forgive me—”

            “Reverend Dimmesdale,” the woman said softly, smiling.  “Thou hast honored my humble barn with thy presence,” she said, letting her hands fall to her sides.  The Reverend stared at his feet as he squeezed his hat between two shaky hands.  “Please come in.”

            “Mistress Prynne…I…I’ve…” he stammered, then closed and latched the barn door behind him.  “I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.  And God’s.”  He marched over to stand directly in front of her, looking her square in the eye and nowhere else.  “Mistress Prynne—Hester—I came to tell thee that…the other night…can never happen again,” he said resolutely.

            “The other night?” Hester asked as she rubbed drops of water into her exposed neck.  “Yes, Reverend—Arthur—I know of which night thee speaketh.”  She dipped her fingers in her drinking water and brought them to her lips.  The reverend swallowed slowly as he watched her trace her full lips with two long fingers, letting a few drops of water drip down to her heaving chest.

            “Hester.”  He gulped when she licked her lips.  “We must pray for strength and forgiveness.”  He shuddered as she nodded and took a step closer to him.  “Surely thou is a witch, for thou hast cast a most wicked and…uh…irresistible spell over me.”

            “And thou hast done the same to me, Arthur,” Hester whispered.  She took his hat away and placed his hand over her heart.  “Will not God forgive us for sharing a love that is true?  My husband is husband in name only.  He holds not my heart,” she said as she pressed herself against his hand, his body.  The reverend’s mouth fell open as he touched the heat of her flesh.

            “Mistress Prynne…thy tongue is wicked.  And most convincing,” he sighed, and licked his lips.  He let his hand travel lower, to her cleavage. 

            “It is thee, Reverend, and thee alone that can claim knowledge of…the wickedness of my tongue,” Hester said lowly, reaching down between their bodies.  “I believe thee knows very well the workings of my tongue.”  Reverend Dimmesdale shuddered when he felt her small, delicate hand on the front of his breeches.  “And what of my bosoms?” she asked playfully, her hand moving slowly.  “Are my bosoms wicked?” she whispered.  She opened the front of her chemise, exposing her full breasts to the sweat-soaked minister.  “Hast thou no compliment for these?”

            “Thy bosoms are like the mountains of these great forests of the new world,” Reverend Dimmesdale spurted out.  “Life-giving…magical…and quite…rotund.”  Hester smiled and placed his hands on her chest, sighing as he cupped her breasts and exhaled hot breath on her neck.

            “Arthur…do you not admire my legs as well?”

            “Thy legs are like…oh.”  The reverend gasped when Hester pressed her leg between his, purposely caressing the tumescence trapped behind walls of thick, scratchy fabric.  “Oh, um, has not the temperature risen drastically of sudden?”

            “And what of the rest of me, Arthur?”  Hester stepped back and lifted her petticoat, exposing her creamy white ankle.  “Does the sight of my naked body please thee?”

            “Oh…Hester…we could be hanged for this,” Reverend Dimmesdale whispered as he tore at Hester’s clothes.

            “Not if thee will keep thy big mouth shut, we will not!”  Arthur looked up at her, his teeth full of petticoats, his knees covered in hay, his fists full of ass.  “Did I tell thee to stop?”

 

            “Ah, yes, thou are hitting my spot,” Hester groaned as she writhed naked and dripping with sweat atop the good Reverend Dimmesdale.  She rode him with such vigor and strength that the reverend was soon near exhaustion.

            “I…uh…Hest…uh…thee…uh…can’t…uh…breathe—”

            “Harder, good minister!  Plow my soil!  Spread thy fertile seed all through my barren fields!” she squealed.

            “My God, woman!  Hast thy truly been possessed by The Evil One?” Arthur gasped as he tried to catch his breath.

            “Thou talks too much,” Hester retorted as she stuffed the crotch of her pantaloons into Arthur’s mouth.

 

            “I want thee to know that I plan to punish myself severely as penance for this sin,” Arthur proclaimed as he watched Hester take all seven of his Puritanical inches down her throat.  “And I shall self-flagellate every day for a month!”  Hester’s eyebrows shot up.

            “Every day, Reverend Dimmesdale?  Take care thy hands do not fall off!”

 

            “Um, dearheart…is, uh, is thou finished yet?”

            “If thee, sweet love of my life, would use thy lips for tasting instead of talking, I would be finished!” Hester wailed, pulling at Arthur’s hair as she straddled his face.  “More tongue, less talk!”  With that incentive, and the numbness growing in his jaw, Reverend Dimmesdale finally found the correct rhythm, depth, and technique with which to make his beloved partner-in-sin finally collapse in a heap of shudders and sighs and squeals of, “Yea, verily, yea!”

            The two lovers lay on the straw-covered barn floor for a few seconds, catching their breath and gazing at each other.  There would be no more talk of adultery or sin or missing husbands.  At least not for a few more days.

            “I love thee, Hester Prynne,” said the reverend.  He slapped her bottom playfully.  “And I loveth what thee does to me.  Do all women in thy family have such gifts?”

            “Wouldn’t thee like to know,” Hester laughed.  She rolled on top of Arthur, gazing down at him with reverence and love.  “I was that good?”

            “Better than any courtesan or farm animal,” Arthur blurted out.  “Um, so I hear.”

            “If thee was to grade me for my talents,” Hester said as she entwined fingers with her lover, “what would thou givest me?”

            “Thou is the best,” Arthur said, giving Hester a sweet kiss.  “If I had my way, the governor, nay, The King himself would bestow upon thee, for the entire colony to see, a bright red letter ‘A!’”  Hester smiled proudly.

            “Such things you say.”

 

Originally published: May 2002; revised August 2012

Copyright © 2002 by KTA

 


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